


If You Like It, Then You Should've Put A Ring On It

by stepquietly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: But he lives forever on tape so it's not as sad?, Crack, Explicit Language, Horror!Crack!fic, I'm Sorry, Jonny is dead in this, M/M, Patrick Kane makes terrible sexual decisions, Ring AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tazer haunts Patrick through his TV and keeps  threatening to kill him. And Kaner makes jokes about how Tazer lives at the bottom of a well and still uses a VCR. (The Ring AU crack!fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bessyboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/gifts).



> This fic is largely [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/monetstcroix/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/monetstcroix/)**monetstcroix** and [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/)**bessyboo** 's fault. Because while monetstcroix might've started me out by posting this: http://instagram.com/p/jGQQ4GsxNR/, Bess actively encouraged this whole thing and then went on to beta it. So it's more their fault than mine, if you think about it. No, really, think hard!
> 
> WARNINGS: Tazer is dead in this fic and doesn't come back to life. Kaner sexually harasses Tazer. There's a LOT of bad language, but a relatively happy ending.

“Well, that was fucking terrible.” Pat leans back against the couch and rubs at his eyes. The damn tape had been barely ten minutes long, and filled with grainy-ass bullshit and some dude who looked really freaking pissed off. Totally not what he’d been expecting out of a tape titled ‘Busty Babes Take Vegas 4’, though really, what else could you expect in a fucking cabin in the back of beyond.

He’s vaguely contemplating trying to climb the roof to see if that gets him enough of a signal to download some porn on his phone when the screen lights up with an incoming call from a blocked number. Which is pretty weird given how there hasn’t been enough of a signal out here for Pat to call out for days, but whatever.

“Yeah?” Pat slurs out, and there’s a couple of seconds of heavy breathing before the asshole on the other end of the line whispers, all dramatic and gravel-voiced, “Seven days.”

“What?”

“Seven da–”

“I heard you the first time, man. What the fuck is seven days?” Pat’s too drunk to deal with any of this cryptic-ass bullshit.

“That’s when you die, shithead,” the voice responds, notably less gravelly and a lot more annoyed.

“The fuck?” Pat is either too fucking drunk or not fucking drunk enough for this.

“You watched the tape. Now you die. Seven days.” The caller hangs up. Pat’s left staring at the phone in his hand trying understand whatever the hell just happened. He irritably shrugs it off and opens up google to see if he can get anything, but the signal is back to being sucktastic.

“Fucking story of my life,” he moans, and collapses back onto the couch.

He spends a couple of minutes trying to get comfortable, shifting about and digging his heels into the arms of the couch before he gives up and turns over to face the blue glare of the TV screen. The light from the VCR is still blinking and Pat ends up fumbling about in the sofa cushions to find the remote control so he can rewind the shitty-ass fake porn to maybe get another look at whatever the heck it was.

He’s chugging down the remainder of his beer and watching the damn tape for the third time – and it does really seem to get worse each time; shitty angles and really terrible cuts between clips – when he thinks to pause on the creepy dude’s face.

It’s really not a good look for him even though dude is all cut and wet and could easily look fine. But he’s scowling out of the screen, dead fish-eyed stare, after he crawled out of some freaking well, and honestly, Pat doesn’t think he’d be asking too much of the world if fucking college kids would stop with the whole avant-garde surrealist thing and just make a damn movie that made sense. He’s not even sure what crawling out of a fucking well would symbolize other than a lack of freaking dog to go get grandpa.

But the dude’s face, for all its gimlet stare, isn’t too bad looking and Pat’s half-hard in his pants because he hasn’t been laid in when-the-fuck-ever, so needs must and all that.

Pat’s busy working his jeans and briefs half way down his thighs when he thinks he sees the screen move.

“What the hell–” he starts out, but the screen’s still frozen as far as he can tell, though the dude’s face looks a lot more pissed off than he remembers. It’s actually sexier, if anything. Pat shrugs and goes back to spitting into his palm and getting a hand around his cock.

He’s got a good pace going, just long even pulls and the occasional scrape of a nail against the slit, working himself up slowly so he can really enjoy this. He’s got his eyes on the dude onscreen and he’s imagining him here – pushing Pat down further into the sofa, climbing on top of him, all big hands and wet shoulders like when he pulled himself out of the well – and Pat’s gotta shut his eyes for a second and speed his hand up, slapping the heel of his hand lightly into his balls on the end of every stroke.

Then the house phone goes off. And don’t get him wrong, Pat’s really invested in ignoring it. Except that it’s much harder to focus on his dick when the ringtone is ratcheting up the volume like it knows what a fucking buzzkill that is.

“Fucking shitass piece of shit,” he yells and shuffles his ass over on the couch so he can pick up the handset from the corner table.

There’s a couple of seconds of heavy breathing and then the same voice as earlier is snapping at him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” Pat’s pretty confused here.

“You’re going to die in seven days,” the voice insists, “that face in the video that you’re fucking staring at? That’s gonna be the last one you see.”

“Who is this? Is this the creep in the video?” Pat can’t believe the nerve of this asshole. First he makes this shitty tape, and now he’s threatening Pat with death for having watched the fucking thing? What the fuck?! “Seriously, what the fuck, man? Do you just randomly go around making fucked up videos of yourself and sending them to people as fake porn? Is this your version of beautiful plastic bags or whatever the fuck, crawling out of wells and taking lopsided shots of a lighthouse?”

“Fuck you, asshole. I just told you you’re dead. And that shot wasn’t lopsided!”

“It fucking was,” Pat insists. “And you didn’t even adjust for basic glare, you amateur piece of shit.”

The line goes dead. Pat has a moment of triumph before the tape suddenly unpauses itself without Pat having touched anything. Creepy-ass phone dude is staring out at him again, but suddenly this time the video changes, because he swivels his head so he’s looking right at where Patrick is sitting, cock out and confused, when he intones “Seven days,” and Pat can feel his fucking angry dead-eyed stare all the way over on the couch.

He gives the video the finger – “Suck my dick, asshole” – and starts rooting about in the cushions of the couch for the remote.

The guy makes a face as if he totally heard Pat, and then suddenly there’s a bunch of images in black and white appearing on screen. There’s a couple of images of a lighthouse, a few of a well, and there’s a weird shot which he’s pretty sure is a moose or something, but who the fuck knows. Then the guy’s back and repeating like Pat’s fucking deaf, “you die in seven days.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to deal with this piece of shit VCR then,” Pat mutters, fumbling with the remote and trying to turn the damn thing off. “Who the fuck even uses tapes anymore?! Fucking ridiculous guy stuck in the freaking stone age, using betamax because he’s a shithead.”

“It’s classic,” insists the guy from the screen, scowling at Pat like _he’s_ the asshole and not the creepy-ass tape that's haunting him. If Pat wasn’t quite so drunk and/or horny and/or pissed off, some of this might’ve been terrifying. As it stands, all he wants is to blow a wad and go the fuck to bed. If this guy would just shut up for two damn minutes, he might even be able to get that done.

“Are – are you kidding me? Are you still trying to get off?” For a fucking haunted tape or whatever, dude is slow.

Pat feels compelled to point out. “Dude, you’ve already told me that you’re going to kill me and I watched your stupid-ass tape, right? So you can either hang out and maybe take your shit off so we can do some stuff, or you can leave me to my damn week of life so I can fucking come already.”

The guy scowls like Pat’s the weirdo here which he totally is _not_. But fuck it, Pat can play nice if he needs to and good sexual etiquette and all that shit. “Hey man, what’s your name?”

The guy looks, if possible, even more gimlet eyed and rage-filled. “What.” he asks, deadpan.

“Dude,” Pat says, hands up, all non-threatening and then pointing to his cock, “I’m just saying, if we’re doing this you should maybe tell me your name.” Never let it be said that Patrick Kane isn’t a goddamn gentleman.

The guy just continues to stare at Pat like he’d love to come out of the screen and rip his face off, and Pat shrugs and settles back so he can kick off his jeans and pull his shirt off. He has to be pretty careful about it though ‘cause some of the beer isn’t sitting quite as comfortably as he’d hoped.

He’s got his shirt off and managed to kick off his jeans when the guy on screen finally makes up his mind and bites out, “Jonny. I’m – I’m Jonny.”

“Good to know. Take your fucking shirt off, man.”


	2. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chat!fic about Tazer and Kaner trying to make a new video.
> 
> Or, Molly and I scream at each other over twitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone left [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/profile)[](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/)**missmollyetc** and me unsupervised again. We really can't be held responsible for what results.
> 
>  
> 
> **For some reason, AO3 won't allow me to add in a co-author to a single chapter but insists on making it an addition to the whole thing. So instead Imma just point out here that Molly is totally the co-author of this chapter! YEAH! Hands in the air for shared responsibility, y'all!**

stepquietly: Where would I even go with this? THEY ARE SUCH IDIOTS. JONNY EVENTUALLY COMING OUT OF THE TV SO HE CAN LOOM OVER KANER. KANER BEING ALL "OH GOOD, LET'S FUCK!"

missmollyetc: CAN THEY STILL ARGUE ABOUT FILM? BECAUSE THAT WAS THE BEST.

stepquietly: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. BEAUTIFUL PLASTIC BAG. JONNY'S SOUL DIED A LITTLE MORE BECAUSE OF THAT COMPARISON.

missmollyetc: HE DIDN'T EVEN ADJUST FOR BASIC GLARE.

stepquietly: KANER COULD MAKE A BETTER FILM. FIRST, HE WRITES DOWN A PLOT. ARE YOU WATCHING THIS, JONNY? A PLOT!

missmollyetc: IT'S EVEN LINEAR!

stepquietly: AND HE USES A COMPUTER TO EDIT HIS SHIT. BECAUSE HE DOESN'T THINK LIFE ENDED IN THE EIGHTIES!

missmollyetc: WELL, MAYBE _JONNY'S_ LIFE ENDED IN THE EIGHTIES, BUT FUCK THAT DEFEATIST SHIT.

stepquietly: KANER'S GONNA SHOW HIM PREMIER PRO AND BLOW HIS FUCKING MIND!

missmollyetc: HE'LL SHOW THAT DEAD ASSHOLE THE TRUE MEANING OF LENS FLARE!

stepquietly: AND HE WON'T HALF ASS IT WITH THE WIERDO TIMMY-IN-THE-WELL SHOTS. "THAT'S BACKSTORY," JONNY PROTESTS. "THAT'S SHITTY FILM-MAKING," KANER POINTS OUT.

missmollyetc: "THEY NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!" JONNY YELLS AS THE LIGHTS FLICKER. "YOU SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT A DOG," KANER YELLS BACK.

stepquietly: "FUCK YOU," JONNY SCREAMS AND PUNCHES HIM. AN HOUR LATER, KANER'S SHINER IS COMING IN PROPER AND HE CAN'T FIND HIS FUCKING PANTS.

missmollyetc: "AND WHAT'S WITH THE MOOSE ANYHOW?" HE SCREAMS, BECAUSE HEY. HE'S YOUNG, HE'S GOT ANOTHER ROUND IN THE BARREL.

stepquietly: JONNY LOOKS AT HIM, DISGUSTED. "IT SYMBOLIZES THE END OF NATURE, YOU BRAIN-DEAD FUCK." "LIKE PRINCESS MONONOKE?" KANER ASKS, SNIDE.

missmollyetc: "WHAT?" JONNY ASKS, SLIGHTLY LESS MURDEROUS. "OH MY GOD, YOU FUCKING POSER," KANER MUTTERS.

stepquietly: "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH EDUCATING PEOPLE ABOUT THE LOCAL FOREST PRESERVE, " JONNY MUMBLES.

missmollyetc: "YOU CAN DO THAT, OR YOU CAN HAVE A COHERENT NARRATIVE, SHITSTAIN," KANER SAYS, KICKING AT HIM ON THE COUCH.

stepquietly:"YOU'RE THREATENING TO KILL THEM," KANER SCREAMS. "I DON'T THINK THEY'RE LOOKING AT THE FUCKING LOCAL FAUNA THEN, ASSHOLE!"

missmollyetc: "IT'S NOT A THREAT, IT'S A PROMISE!" JONNY POINTS AT HIM. KANER ROLLS HIS EYES. "25 DAYS AND COUNTING, FUCKNUT."

stepquietly: "KILLING PEOPLE ISN'T LIKE RETURNING A LIBRARY BOOK, SHITHEAD!"  
"KILLING PEOPLE ISN'T LIKE RETURNING A LIBRARY BOOK, SHITHEAD," KANER PARROTS BACK TO HIM. "GOD, WHO EVEN WERE YOU?! FUCKING MISTER PRISS-ASS ALL THE TIME."  
"AT LEAST I DON'T LOOK LIKE SOMETHING DIED ON MY HEAD!"  
"HEY! NOT COOL, MAN. THIS IS MY FLOW HERE!"

missmollyetc: "I'M THE FUCKING BOOGEYMAN! SHOW SOME RESPECT!" JONNY THROWS HIS ARMS IN THE AIR.  
"NOT UNTIL YOU SHOW ME SOME ACTUAL SCENERY." KANER FLIPS HIM OFF. "MISE EN SCENE OR GET THE FUCK OUT, BITCH."  
"AND SPEAKING OF FLOW, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ALWAYS WET? HOW IS THE AUDIENCE SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND WHERE YOU'RE COMING FROM?"  
I SHOWED YOU THE WELL," JONNY SAYS, GRINDING TEETH.  
"SO? YOU SHOWED ME A LIGHTHOUSE TOO, VIRGINIA WOOLF."

... And so it goes...


End file.
